The Time Warp Shuffle
by Ramarama
Summary: When Les is kidnapped, David follows desperately. The path leads to a new world. The future. As in 2032 future. But it's a dangerous place, and he's going to need the help of some rather odd characters if he and Les are going to get back home alive.
1. The Deed

A/N: This just randomly popped into my head at the dinner table. It was just an image of Racetrack as a futuristic mechanic, and is vaguely inspired by the Terminator chronicles, which I recently watched. So this will probably never be finished, but it just sort of fell together. So we'll see where it goes.

DISCLAIMER: Roses are red, violets are blue. Me no own, so you no sue. Rated for future swears and violence. I think.

* * *

"Les! Les Jacobs! LES!" David shaded his eyes with one hand, scanning the milling crowd for his younger brother. "_LES_!"

"Jeez, you don't have to yell. I'm right here."

Indeed, David looked down to find Les standing in front of him, an annoyed look oh his face. "Well, why didn't you _say _something?"

"I did. Just then."

David threw up his hands in exasperation, before leading his brother through the crush of people and the school gates. "So how was your day?"

"Oh, y'know. Same old, same old. Miss Thompson says I'm pre… prekosher."

"Pre_cocious, _Les." The two brothers ambled easily along - well, David ambled. Les was skipping.

"That's what I said. What does it mean, anyway?"

"Ahead of your time."

"Like from the future?"

"Like too smart for your own good."

"Oh. Hey look! There's Ralph! Can I go play with him, David? Pleeeeeeeeease?" Les dragged on David's sleeve and opened his eyes impossibly wide.

David looked at his watch. "I suppose. Wait-" he yelped, grabbing his brother by the backpack, just as the kid started to bolt. "I'm going to sit on that bench over there. I'll give you guys half an hour, okay? Stay in the playground."

"_Yes_, Mother."

After watchingLes scamper off, David sat down on the indicated bench and dug his copy of 'The Life of Pi' out of his backpack. But despite the fact that it was required reading, he was sucked into the story. When he chanced to glance at his watch, he was startled to see that nearly forty-five minutes had passed.

"Shit!" David shoved his book into his bag and stood, once again searching for his little brother. There was Ralph, but the kid he was playing Yugi-Oh with, wasn't Les. "Hey Ralph, where'd Les go?"

The tubby kid didn't look up from his card game, just stabbed a thick finger across the playground.

David shoved through the exuberant after-school crowd, and there was Les. He was talking to an older man with a sort of rancid smile. Les broke off, confused, but the other man leaned down and started whispering into Les' ear. _Oh no, don't tell me he's one of those creepy paedophiles…_

He was running now, shouting his brother's name – and, yes Les was looking up. But so was the man, and there was an unpleasant look on his face. "NO!" David screamed, knowing what the man was going to do.but the playground was big, and his desperate cry was lost in the general mayhem. The man reached out and grabbed Les around the middle.

Suddenly, David felt like he was in a movie, desperately sprinting forward in slow motion.He could only watch from a distance as the man hoisted Les under one arm like some sort of human football,and turned away. The pit dropped out of David's stomach. Everything felt like it was going so slowly, but it could only have been a few seconds.

In his haste, he stumbled, but was back on his feet before his momentum slowed. The man was running now as well, back through a gap in the chain link fence. Into the forest. David knew what creepy men did to little boys in the woods, and he was damned if that was going to happen to his little brother. Putting on a new burst of speed, he leapt over the teeter-totter, pounded through the sandbox, and finally hurtled through the fence and after the man.

Branches whipped his face, and he didn't have enough breath left for shouting. It wouldn't help him now, anyway. But Les seemed to be of a different opinion, and his muffled shouts echoed through the otherwise silent woods. The man's dim shape flashed through the underbrush ahead, and David locked his eyes on the brief glimpses of the black coat.

Then there was kind of an odd moment, as though the world was a still pool of water that a giant hand had just slapped. And then the forest ahead of David was empty.

Startled, he skidded to a halt, overbalanced, toppled forward-

-and slammed onto a dirt road. Dust puffed up from the impact, and got into his eyes and mouth. Coughing, he pulled himself to hands and knees. There was a big, black car in front of him, and some sort of struggle going on inside it. _Les._ He lunged for the car, only to catch a fragmented glimpse of his brother's wide terrified eyes, before a foot to the chest sent him sprawling back in the dirt, and the car peeled out – spraying him with pebbles and dust.

Desperately, he shot to his feet and pounded after the car, but it was moving faster than seemed possible, and he was soon left behind. Panting and cursing, David stumbled to a stop, bracing his hands on his knees as he stared dismally after the quickly vanishing plume of dust that carried his little brother away.

Slowly, he sank to his knees, not caring that they were already raw and bleeding from the various scrapes he'd gotten in his frantic flight. _Where are they taking him? Who are 'they'? What's going on? Why? How? Wha…_And then the urgent message that had been trying to reach his brain for the last several seconds finally got through.

He wasn't in the woods any longer. In fact, he couldn't see any trees at all. All he could see was the flat dirt road, and the flat dirt desert around him – though it was occasionally speckled with rocks or some sort of scrubby bushes. And it was hot too – a huge sun was beating down on his back, larger than he'd ever seen the sun before.

Suddenly, he whirled to look behind himself. Nothing – no trace of the trees he'd run through, or the path he'd taken. Just the pale orange expanse of road, and the slightly darker orange of the surrounding area.

Frantically, he climbed to his feet and hurried back in the direction he'd come. Still no trees. He tried running, jumping, even fell down a few times – just in case. But try as he might, David couldn't get back to the forest, or the playground, or anywhere even remotely familiar. He was stuck, here in this strange desert that seemed to have literally fallen right on top of him. _Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore…_

_

* * *

_

A/N: Okay, this is kind of a lame opener, but I promise we'll meet the boys in the next chapter. They're gonna be so cool... I'm very excited about their characters. But anyways, what does everyone think of this? Like? Hate? Ambivalence? Is that even the right word? Is it too late for me to be up?

I know the answer to one of those questions, but it's up to all of you to figure out the rest.

Cheers,

Rama


	2. The Meeting

A/N: All right, I'm not sure how far this story is going to go – I'm running out of time to write it, and I'm worried it will die. But no fear of that in the near future – I'm halfway through chapter five at the moment.

We meet a few more boys here, and I know they're gonna seem a little bit more… er, _harsh_, than they did in the movie or in most other fics, but then again, the movie was by Disney, and I like them being more kickass. No pansy slingshots here. No, Spot I'm not insulting you! Nooooo! Not the marbles!

* * *

The too-large sun was beating down on David's back, causing sweat to leak from his pores and mingle with the layer of dust on his skin, while simultaneously baking the muddy film to concrete. He'd removed his school blazer nearly half an hour ago, his tie fifteen minutes ago, and was currently unbuttoning his shirt. 

Nothing helped. He'd been plodding along the dirt road after the car – having no other direction to go – for nearly forty minutes, and he was slowly being cooked alive. Fear had given way to despair, which had given way to a loss of brain function. If his head was a television, David was sure it would be crackling with static, or emitting a high-pitched keening.

So a man had kidnapped Les, taken him to this place, and then driven off in a car. But where was 'this place'? It looked rather like Arizona or Nevada or one of those states in the southwest – not that David had ever been outside the state of New York (other than Great-uncle Ira's funeral in New Jersey).

Had he been drugged and transported here without knowing it? Was he in some lab, or testing facility? Were there scientist laughing at him from behind two way mirrors? Conspiracy theories flashed through his head, only to be squashed quickly by the more rational bit of his brain. _Where the hell would they put two-way mirrors in the middle of the desert, anyway?_

The sun was too hot and the dust was too unpleasant for it to be a hallucination, but David was too tired to dredge up any more ideas as to what the hell had happened. So he trudged onward, as the sweat beaded on his upper lip and trickled down his chest. He tried to worry about Les, but at this point all the horrific implications of what had happened crashed down on his consciousness, and his brain flat-lined. He plodded down the road.

* * *

David had become so used to the bland unchanging landscape, that when the truck stop came into view, he didn't notice it for several minutes. Even when he did, he figured it was a hallucination – like those stories of guys wandering off into the Sahara, thinking they saw an oasis. 

But the distant building didn't waver or disappear as David got closer. In fact, it got properly larger, and strains of music drifted to his ears. But most importantly, there was a dusty black car parked out front, with a few yelling guys standing around it.

Suddenly the hour or two of trekking he had done fell away, and energy rushed back into his legs. Soon he was jogging at a good clip towards the car, eyes desperately scanning for his brother's slight frame.

As he drew closer, the men eventually noticed him, and all turned to stare. David supposed he must look rather odd, running down the road, alone. His hair was soaked with sweat, his open shirt flapped behind him, and he was absolutely caked in dust. But Les could be in that car, and so everything else didn't matter.

He skidded the last few steps to the vehicle, panting hard and feeling despair creeping into his heart. Les wasn't there. Neither was the creepy man who had dragged him off. The car was empty, all the doors flung wide open. "Les?" he called, in the hopes that his brother was somewhere nearby.

"Hey buddy, you okay?"

David turned to the man, and found himself staring at a tall boy no older than himself. "Where are the people from this car?" he gasped out.

"Gone, the fuckers." Another snapped. "Took my car and bolted."

David almost collapsed. "They're gone?"

"What I said, ain't it?"

Something of David's frazzled and despairing thoughts must have shown on his face, because one of the other men stepped forward and put a hand on David's shoulder. "Let it go, Skitts. I know you're pissed, but there ain't nothing we can do about your car now. Anyway, can't you see this guy's dead on his feet? Come on, you look like you need a drink." Ignoring David's feeble protests, the group of guys propelled him inside the diner.

Noise bombarded his ears, and a variety of unpleasant smells invaded his nostrils. The place wasn't even a truck stop, not really. Sure, trucks could probably stop there, but it was really nothing more than a glorified bar. Not that David would know much about either of those places. But whatever it was, he found himself plopped unceremoniously on a barstool in front of a buxom waitress.

"What can I get ya?" she asked, in a forty-million-packs-a-day voice.

David blinked. "Um… a water would be really great, thanks. A _big_ water."

One penciled eyebrow rose. "A water?"

"Yeah."

A heavy arm dropped around his shoulders, and one of David's 'rescuers' grinned sideways at him. "Only a _water_? Can't have that now." The guy turned his grin to the waitress. "Two Nosebleeds, Delilah."

Worried, David clamped one hand protectively over his nose. "No really, a water's fine."

"Nosebleed."

"Water."

"_Nosebleed_."

"_Look_." David grated out, finally fed up. "My brother's been kidnapped, I have no idea where I am, I'm hot, tired, and I've been wandering through the desert for the last couple hours. So if I say I want a water, _THAT'S WHAT I FUCKING WANT!_"

David's 'friend' looked surprised and rather taken aback, but the waitress just snapped her gum and snorted. A few people nearby had glanced up, but didn't look alarmed – or even surprised.

David suddenly felt sort of ashamed. "Sorry." He mumbled, as the waitress slid a tall glass of water in front of him. "I'm kinda stressed out at the moment."

The other guy blinked at David – or winked, because he only had one eye, the other covered in a black patch - and smiled ruefully. "My fault, I didn't realize. Is all that stuff why you were running all alone in the middle of the desert?"

David took a long drink of his water, relishing the feel of the liquid sliding down his parched and dusty throat. It tasted rather metallic and chemically, and it was a far cry from cold, but it was the best drink he'd ever had. "Yeah. I was chasing after the guy who had Les. It was probably pretty stupid of me – I mean, I'm only seventeen, what the hell was I gonna do?"

The other guy raised an eyebrow. "Well, you could have shot the guy, or tackled him, or just beat his head in."

"What, like in an action movie? Some stupid teenage hero pulling off an impossible rescue?" David snorted. "Right. I don't do sports, I don't go to the gym, and I don't carry weapons."

"You don't?" The Cyclops guy blinked – winked – again, startled.

David shivered, and began re-buttoning his shirt. "Uh…_no._ It's not like I need to defend my little brother everyday or something. Besides, I really would rather not get expelled for carrying a concealed." Suddenly suspicious, he narrowed his eyes at his companion. "Why? Do you?"

"Well, _yeah_. I'd sure be dead if I didn't." He pulled up the back of his shirt so that David could see the gun stuck under the waistband of his jeans. "I'm surprised you lasted this long without a weapon. Are you some kind of martial arts master?"

Unnerved, David started slowly edging his glass away from the boy. "No… I don't know why I'd need to, this is the first time that anyone I know – myself included – has ever been in a situation requiring a weapon. And even if I did have one, I wouldn't know how to use it!"

Incredulous, the one-eyed guy leaned forward. "Jeez…where are you from, anyway?" His single eye narrowed. "You're not from The Compound, are you? Don't lie, either. We have dogs outside, they'll sniff you out."

Worried, David scooted backwards, nearly falling off his stool. "The _where_?"

"You heard me. You're one of _them_, aren't ya?"

"_Who_?" Suddenly David found his wrist locked in his companion's iron grip. "Wait, what are you doing?" The other boy said nothing, merely dragged David off his stool and headed farther back into the bar. "Stop! What the hell? Stop it, you crazy bastard! Can I get some help here? _Help_!"

The one-eyed kid turned and dealt David a vicious backhand, causing his head to knock against the plaster wall. "Shut up." He deadpanned, before dragging David forward again.

Seeing stars, David stumbled along behind him – too dazed and tired to be terrified. This had definitely been a Bad Day.

* * *

He was dragged to a back table, were the Cyclops kid thrust him forward with a harsh jerk. 

"I think he's one of _them_, Cowboy."

David found himself staring at one of the guys who had been outside around the car. It was the tall kid who had first asked if he was okay. The guy – Cowboy, he'd been called – raised an eyebrow. "He's kinda pitiful looking, Blink. Looks like _they_'re getting desperate." He stared at David with hard hazel eyes. "So what's the deal, kid? It'll go better for you if you tell me now, maybe we won't kill you."

Again, David realized that he should be absolutely shaking in fear, but couldn't dredge up the desire. "I have no idea what the hell everyone is talking about. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I have no idea where the hell I am. I just want my brother and my glass of water."

Cowboy raised an eyebrow. "Well I ain't heard that one before. But you still didn't answer my Q."

"Your _what_? Don't you people talk normally?"

"He's avoiding it, Cowboy." Murmured a boy from the next table, glancing suspiciously at David. "Better check 'im."

David's tired brain fizzled and died. He could honestly not think of any other explanation than that these crazy guys were all actors stationed here in some sort of elaborate role-playing game or lab test. He looked at the Cyclops kid, who was now gripping both of his arms behind his back. If he was an actor, he was a _damn_ good one.

"Well," Cowboy drawled. "He don't look like one of _them_, but I been fooled before. Check 'im."

* * *

A/N: So, what did you think? We're getting closer to some explanation about what the hell is going on, but not quite. That comes in the next chapter or so. I'm writing this fic so that you only know as much as the character you're following (I forget what the technical name for it is). So, while David might know the square root of 322,624 (568), or the definition of masochistic (adj. Deriving pleasure from being humiliated, abused – mentally or physically – by another or by oneself), or the relative population of Kazakhstan (15,185,844), he has no idea WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, and so, therefore, neither do you. Loves! 

Shout outs to the first chapter's WONDERFUL reviewers: **Oxymoronic Alliteration** (silent scream, acute apathy, affirmative action – haha. I wasn't going to put The Crack in there, but just for you, I will. Have I successfully completed my punishment, Cruel Mistress?), **Gamble 7 **(Ah, the mysteries of my twisted mind…), **hobbit1400**, and **Sparks Diamond**.

Everyone else, please review – any criticism welcome, if you feel it's warranted. Look out for the next chapter (which I quite like) sometime soon!

Cheers,

Rama


	3. The Revelation

A/N: OMG, I'M BACK! Sorry, I died for a bit there. We moved back to the States, and I really ran out of time. Plus the fact that I didn't have the complete copy of this chapter. But anyway, we're spending Xmas with my dad, so I'm back in Ireland and finally have access to this document. So, I hope I still have readers out there! Without further ado, here's chapter 3!

* * *

The Cyclops kid – David thought he'd heard him called 'Blink' – dragged David roughly out a side door. He was then thrust into a cinderblock wall – since Blink still imprisoned his arms, he smacked his face painfully off the cement block. 

"Don't move." Someone growled, and there was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

Immediately, David froze. Getting shot in the back was definitely not on his to-do list. "What are you doing?"

"Shut up." The voice snapped.

Rough impersonal hands quickly patted him down, checking for weapons. Underarms, legs, ankles, the small of his back – they were all checked in a detached, formal way. Someone muttered, "Got his bag." And there was a shuffling behind him – they were searching his bag, he supposed.

"No weapons." Another voice called out.

"Awful hard to kill us without any weapons…" a voice drawled from somewhere on his right – sounded like Cowboy.

"Maybe he's one of those martial arts masters." This time David recognized Blink's voice. "Don't let him move."

Since David had no intention of doing anything remotely like that, he let out a shaky breath. "Wh-"

"Shut _up_." Another voice snapped right by his ear, and something eerily cold and metallic was jammed into his shoulder blades.

After a few more terse moments of shuffling and searching, David was commanded to clasp his hands behind his back. They were fit into some kind of plastic rope that bit at his skin. Whatever it was, it imprisoned his hands as surely as if it had been handcuffs.

"All right, let's get him over to the dogs."

David was again dragged roughly along – this time by two big guys with curly brown hair. Around the corner of the bar, there was a wire pen full of very large dogs, and this was what they approached. "G-guys…"

"What part of 'shut up' don't you understand? The 'shut' or the 'up'?"

Suppressing a whimper, David clamped his mouth shut, as a guy with a brown bowler jammed low over his eyes unlocked the massive padlock that kept the kennel door closed. A dog that looked rather like a Doberman like out a deep bark. _Surely these guys won't feed me to the dogs. They aren't that psychopathic, are they? I mean threatening me with guns, beating me around a bit, I don't like, but I can deal with. Feeding me to dogs… That's different. I'm just a kid! I have to find Les! Who's going to find him if I don't?_

Suddenly, he was angry. _Who the hell are these kids, to kill off innocent bystanders? I haven't done anything!_ He had been stumbling along, trying to keep his feet and dignity, but now he lifted up his feet and let his captors take his full weight. It wasn't enough to make them let go, but they did lose a bit of their grip. Desperately, he kicked off the ground and jerked forward, and with a mighty wrench, had pulled himself free.

He made it three steps before a short kid with a cigar in his mouth clocked him over the head with the butt of his gun.

Before he'd even hit the ground, someone slammed on top of him, and he was pressed into the dust. There was a unified clicking as safeties were snapped off, shotguns were pumped, and hammers were pulled back.

"One move, fucker, and you're dead."

David was panting with rage and fear, and tears of frustration were threatening to well in his eyes. But he held himself still, and after a moment, the weight was lifted off him, and he was jerked to his feet.

Then, without so much as a warning, the kennel door was thrust open, he was tossed inside, and it slammed closed again.

The dogs slowly got to their feet.

David struggled to his knees (hard to do when your hands are tied behind your back), and looked around. There was a group of seven or eight boys behind him, all with guns trained on his back. In front of him were seven or eight dogs, all with very large teeth.

This was turning out to be A Downright Shitty Day.

A huge dog that looked like a cross between a Great Dane, German Shepherd, and various illegal steroids paced slowly forward, hackles raised. David backed away from the dog, until he was pressed against the wire of the cage, and still the dog came on.

"Nice doggy…" he murmured, as the huge muzzle extended towards his trembling body.

But the beast didn't bite him. It merely sniffed his shirt and whined.

Slowly, the other dogs came forward, all of them making confused noises and shuffling away. David blinked. _What the hell? _Finally the big mutt came forward again, and sniffed him thoroughly, from soles to crown. It was like the dog was looking for something. Confused, David looked back at the boys behind him – to see that they looked just as bewildered as he did.

He shifted his attention back to the dog, just in time to see its tail give one decisive wag.

* * *

Immediately, the kennel door opened, and hands jerked him back out. "Sorry, bud. Had to make sure."

Once again, David's brain failed to grasp whatever they were talking about. "What? Wait, what happened to being eaten by the dogs? Are you psychotic? What the hell is your problem? Where's my brother? " The questions all ran out of his mouth in a rush. "And will somebody tell me _what the fuck is going on?_"

Cowboy shoved his pistol into a shoulder-holster. "Slow down, kid. We were just checking to see if you were one of _them_."

"One of _who?_"

"You know, _them_. The Compound."

"What compound?"

The taller boy looked a little surprised. "Where you from, Mars?"

"No. I'm from NYC."

"NYC?"

David blinked. Was he in another country? "You know, New York City?"

Blink raised an eyebrow. "You wanna rethink that answer?"

"Uh…no? I live on Shank Street, in Crown Apartments."

The kid who had clocked David during the aborted escape attempt, removed his unlit cigar from his mouth. "Boy, you sure as hell ain't from around here."

"Obviously!" David snapped, throwing up his hands. "This is like New Mexico! I'm from New _York_! That's on the _other side of the country!_"

Cowboy stepped forward. "Kid, this _is_ New York."

* * *

David found himself quickly – though much more gently – guided back into the bar and seated at the table Cowboy had been occupying before the fiasco with the dogs. He was too dazed to protest, only had enough mental drive to keep his feet moving and his head up. _They're lying. There is nowhere – not even upstate – in New York that looks like this. _"You're _sure _this is New York?"

Another boy – the one who'd gotten his car stolen – named Skittish or something, snorted. "You've only asked us this like _four times_. Yes, this is New York. We've all lived here our whole lives – we'd notice if it changed."

A dark green drink appeared in front of his nose, and he tossed it back without thinking. Just as quickly, he was bent over the table, coughing. "What the hell was that?" he gasped out, finally.

Blink plopped down beside him, grinning. "A Nosebleed."

"I'll say…" David muttered. When his eyes stopped watering, he sat back up and took a more cautious sip. The taste still made his face screw up, but he managed to choke it down. Everyone seemed to find his reaction hilarious, especially since they were all drinking the same drink, and it seemed about as potent to them as apple juice. "So if this is New York, how far away is the city?"

Blink peered oddly at him. "What city?"

"_New York_ City, I keep telling you! How far was I transplanted?"

The table grew silent.

Cowboy leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. "Kid, there ain't no New York City, not since the War."

"The War?"

Raising his eyebrows, the other boy sent David and incredulous look. "You might as well be from Mars, stranger. You know, The Great War? World War III?"

"What great war? War isn't great – besides there's only been two World Wars. How drunk _are_ you?"

"Not drunk at all. But what about you? Been living under the ground for the last thirty years? What's your name, anyway?"

"David Jacobs."

Again, the table fell silent, but this time it was a hostile silence.

"You wanna repeat that?" Cowboy asked, in a menacing voice."

"My name's David Jacobs…"

For what felt like the zillionth time in the last hour, David found a gun pointed at him. _After so much repetition, it really loses its fear factor. _With a sigh, he held up his hands. "Look, I have no idea who the hell you are, where the hell I am, or what the hell your problem is. I have never heard of this compound thing before, and I hardly think I can be one of _them_, if I have no idea who _they_ are. But if someone gets me my backpack, I can prove who I am."

The gun didn't move, but Cowboy cut his eyes to Skittish and jerked his head. The other boy stood with a grunt and trudged off. He reappeared after a moment and dumped David's dusty bag in the middle of the table.

With the gun still pointed at his head, David slowly and carefully sorted through his things – which had been thrown every which way by the searchers. Eventually he found what he was looking for, and thrust it – in the most non-threatening way possible – at Cowboy. "There. My student ID."

After a moment, the other boy lowered the gun – though he didn't holster it – and took the laminated card from David. "Washington Irving High School." He read. "40 Irving Place, New York, New York."

The boys drew closer to listen as Cowboy continued. "David I. Jacobs. Yeah, he matches the picture here." There was a pause, as everyone waited for the boy to continue. But Cowboy's sharp eyes were flicking back and forth between the little card and David's face.

"Cowboy?" Blink asked, finally.

The tall boy shook his head slowly, but read out, "Date of birth. November 14, 1988."

David shrugged. "Yeah, so?" but his voice sounded unnaturally loud – because no one in the group was talking.

"That's not possible…" someone breathed.

Skittish snorted. "It's fake."

Incredulous, David threw up his hands. "You people are psychos! That's it, I'm out of here. I'll just steal back my brother and get out of here, okay?" he stood, but Cowboy's hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

"Hold up there, ki-David. What's this about your brother?"

"Oh, Les. He's been kidnapped."

For the fourth time in as many minutes, an ominous silence descended. "Your brother, this… Les Jacobs, right? How old is he?" Cowboy asked, staring intently across the table.

David sighed. "Almost ten."

The other boy leaned back, and ran a hand over his face. "Holy shit. David, what year is it?"

"Uh…2005. Are you all right?" David was severely creeped out by these kids who went from one extreme to the other in mere seconds. There was something wrong with their heads. _Maybe it's something in the water. Uh-oh, I drank the water…Maybe it's me?_

The silence around the table was decidedly shocked, and the boys were staring at him with really odd looks on their faces. Cowboy let out a sigh. "Yeah, I'm all right. But you ain't gonna be." He reached over and snagged a paper from the next table over, grimly handing it to David.

"Uh… thanks?"

"No stupid. Read it."

David scanned the paper – odd headlines, like 'New Radiation Break in Dallas Area', or 'War Remembrance Conference in Butte.' _Why the hell are they holding a conference in Montana?_

Seeing the incomprehension on David's face, Cowboy leaned forward and pointed to the top of the page.

_The Journal,_ he read._ Weekly Edition. May 4…_he stared at the following four-digit number, but his brain stubbornly refused to compute it. "This is wrong. It's not May fourth, it's May twenty-third. This isn't right."

Cowboy leaned forward. "We only get the paper about once a month. This is a few weeks old, but only that."

David looked at the date again. _May 4…May 4…May 4…20…20…2032. _He looked up at Cowboy and the other boys, then back down at the paper. _Will the last thought in the brain please turn out the lights…_

* * *

A/N: Well? What did you think? Was it worth the wait? Hope people are still reading... Toss a hungry author a bone please... 


	4. The Beginning

A/N: Yay! Another chapter! We meet even more boys in this one, and a tiny bit more is explained. It's the chapter after this where the exposition really starts, so you should hang around. Also, a certain Italian shows up then as well. Don't go anywhere, haha. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

"So… you're really from the past?"

David stared into his third Nosebleed and didn't reply. He was pretty sure he'd gone into shock.

Evidently, Cowboy figured the same thing. "Snipes, let him alone. This is kinda some deep shit, y'know?" The tall boy reached over and switched David's alcohol for a tall glass of water. "Let's ease off on the booze, huh?"

_2032. That's just not possible. This is some sick joke. Have I landed in one giant role-playing community? It isn't 2032._ But for some reason, time-travel seemed to be the only excuse that would cover all the questions rising in his mind. _Why the sun is so big. Why I'm suddenly in the middle of a desert. Why everyone talks and acts weird. That guy must have crossed over to get Les and dragged him back – that's why the car was waiting. _

Oddly enough, his brain quickly came to accept this idea – he had thought his mind would be more critical. _It probably has something to do with that drink…_He considered that idea for a moment, then reached over and grabbed Jack's Nosebleed and tossed it back before the tall boy could protest. After a brief grimace, David let out a sigh and rested his forehead in his hands.

"You all right there, Davey?" Cowboy asked, leaning back and gesturing for the bartender – another boy with dark curly hair, a large nose, and a limp – to refill his glass.

David raised his head. "In one day, I was late to school, failed a Physics test, saw my little brother kidnapped, was nearly fed to rabid dogs, and found out that I jumped thirty years into the future without knowing it. How the hell do you _think_ I feel?" He asked bleakly before letting his head drop back onto his palms. "It's Dav_id_, anyway."

"Yeah, Davey. So," Cowboy accepted his new drink from the barman, and took a swig. "You wanna tell us about what happened to your bro? Maybe we can help."

"Help?" David asked, incredulous. "How? I have no idea where they went!"

"We'll deal with the helping part, Davey-boy. You just tell us your story."

With a sigh, David gave in. _If it turns out that they can't do anything, I've only lost a few minutes of talking and my only hope. If they can help, I've got a lead and a bunch of potentially homicidal, dog-loving, bloody-nosed, psychos from the future on my side. _He wondered which was worse.

* * *

When David finished his tale, Cowboy was silent for a moment. "Snipes, Snitch, check the car. Sputchy, see if you can track down our man, find Skitts' car, and get in touch with Mush. Don't worry, Davey," he said with a slight smile. "We'll find little Les."

As he watched four guys hurry off (hadn't Cowboy only named three?), David was surprised to find that he did feel slightly reassured. The unquestioning competence with which Cowboy dispatched orders, the calm and quick exits of the boys indicated, and whole air of unworried interest – it all made him feel like these boys knew what they were doing.

David himself was a wreck. He was hot, dirty, and tired – not to mention depressed, anxious, terrified, and more than slightly inebriated. He had no idea what to do, but he felt terribly guilty sitting in a bar when he should be out hunting for his brother.

When he expressed these fears to Cowboy, the taller boy laughed slightly and waved a lazy hand. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, Davey. We're taking care of that right now. Besides, if you were out there-" he thrust a finger at the doorway "you'd probably be suffering from dehydration and sunstroke, and in no position to help your bro. So relax and let us do all the hard work."

"But…" David protested, then couldn't find anything to really protest against. "But why are you helping me? I mean, what do you care about my brother or I?"

The other boy widened his eyes playfully and stuck out his lower lip. "I'm hurt, Dave. That's the problem with your time. Everybody's so suspicious. Can't a guy do something nice, once in a while?"

"Thus says the same guy who threw me in a cage with rabid dogs and threatened me repeatedly with handguns."

Cowboy shrugged. "We had to make sure you weren't one of _them_."

Rolling his eyes, David snorted. "_Them, them, them._ No one has even really told me who _they_ are. Yes, I know they're the Compound-" he held up a hand to forestall Cowboy's explanation. "But who are the Compound? Or is it a what?"

Looking awkward, the other boy sighed. "It's kinda hard to explain. They're the bad guys."

"Bad enough to feed me to rabid dogs and beat me with rifles?"

"They ain't rabid. They're quite well-behaved, actually. We use dogs to figure out who's from the Compound. There's some kinda smell or behavior that sets them apart, and the dogs don't like it. And we wouldn't have beaten you if you hadn't run."

"Well, what was I supposed to do? I thought you were going to feed me to the dogs for a crime I'd never heard of, not help me find my brother!"

Cowboy had the good grace to look slightly guilty. "Sorry about that, but we didn't know that you didn't know."

David was saved from having to reply, but the return of Snipes – the kid with the cigar – and the tall boy with the huge teeth who must be Snitch.

Snipes smacked his fist on the table as he reclaimed his seat. "Car's clean – even the treads and the running board. It's a '32 S12 AMG Mercedes with no plates, 256 miles on the odometer, and the power cells are about three-quarters full. There's only a few prints in the interior, and they all look like they belong to the same person. Each one is smudged or partial, so we can get a proper match. But they're small – like from a kid." Snipes nodded to David, who's mouth suddenly went dry.

He drained half of his previously untouched water, as Snitch leaned forward. "That ain't it though. The car was clean, but the ground wasn't." The tall boy placed a small black dot – about the size of the head of a thumbtack – on the table and grinned. "Found this on the ground near the bumper. Must have dropped out during the switch. It's a bit crushed though."

Everyone leaned forward to inspect the black dot. Cowboy grinned. "Good work, boys. Snodds, Swifty," he nodded to the two boys who had previously been dragging David around. "You guys take that car out to Race with my compliments. Drinks for everyone on the house!"

As all the boys cheered and mobbed the bar, Cowboy leaned across the table to David. "Here, come on. We'll see what Sputchy has for us, then drop by Race's hideout." He slid out of the booth, and led David out the side door.

* * *

Around to the opposite side of the building from the dogs, was what looked like a storm cellar. With a grunt of effort, Cowboy heaved one of the heavy metal doors open, gesturing for David to precede him down into the dark depths.

David found himself in what looked like one of those pictures from _his_ history books, with the computers that took up an entire room. Admittedly, it was a small, cramped room, but it was still covered floor to ceiling with beeping machines and monitors. There was a skinny metal table in the center, and a bare bulb shed light on it from above.

The room was occupied by two boys – alike only in that they both wore glasses. One was thin and blond – looked vaguely Dutch or Swedish – and the other was more built, with wavy brown hair that kept flopping in his face. They were both seated in rolling chairs, and seemed to be competing in some sort of relay race. One would inspect some piece of gadgetry and mutter, then the other would scoot off to check out another bit, before muttering back.

David watched in fascination as the boys motored back and forth – listening to headphones, peering at screens, typing briefly at keyboards, muttering – until Jack cleared his throat. Both boys – if one was Sputchy, who was the other? – glanced up, and grinned. They Flintstoned over to the intruders, and began talking excitedly.

"Oh Jacky, we're so good-"

"Guess what we found?"

"Really you should pay-"

"We had to look-"

"Us for this wonderful-"

"Everywhere you could-"

"Job we do at such short-"

"Imagine. But we-"

"Notice all the time-"

"Finally managed to-"

"Just out of the good-"

"track that info you-"

"-ness of our hearts."

"Wanted us to find."

"Boys." Cowboy – Jacky? – interrupted, holding up a hand. "I think you're scaring Davey, here."

Both boys peered at David – who was indeed blinking in confusion – and smiled. "Sorry, Dave." Said the blond-haired one.

"We kinda run over each other." Put in the other.

"Only when we get excited!"

Cowboy grinned. "Y'see, that one with the blond hair is Dutchy, and the one with the brown-hair is Specs – both those names are kinda self-explanatory – but they spend so much time together, and you always need to tell them both something, so we just started calling them 'Sputchy' as a conglomerate."

"Like Bennifer."

"Who?"

David smiled. "Never mind."

Specs and Dutchy raised an eyebrow at each other, and then Specs rolled forward. "Well, what we were trying to say earlier, is that we found that stuff you wanted, Cowboy."

Dutchy scooted backwards until he came to a slot in the computer wall which had been spewing paper, and removed a few sheets. "A vintage '05 Ford Mustang GT – black with Shelby stripes and Xenon window scoops – was found abandoned just outside Jersey City about 10 minutes ago. No one anywhere nearby, but the dust is all stirred up. Looks like they took off in a helicopter."

David was surprised that they had gotten the news so fast, but looking at the entire _room_ filled with equipment, he figured that if anyone could, it was Sputchy.

"And the other stuff?" Cowboy prodded.

"We let Mush in on the news – he says that Snyder and the Delancys left the Compound early this morning and haven't been back since. They were driving a black '32 Mercedes. He says he'll try to get in touch as soon as they get back."

Specs rolled back to the pile of papers accumulated from the spewing slot. "We found your man, Jack, but it ain't good news. He's at his safe house in Juneau. No communications, and all the way across the country."

Cowboy swore colorfully – using several words David didn't know – and slammed his fist into his palm. "Well, keep an eye on him. If there's some clandestine way you can contact him, do it. If not, let me know the minute we can. Depending on how this turns out, I might send someone up to get him."

Sputchy looked properly impressed. "So this is serious shit, huh?" Dutchy asked.

Specs smacked him lightly over the head. "Of course it is, stupid! _Young Les Jacobs _has been kidnapped, possibly by the Compound. Think about it."

Dutchy rubbed his head. "_Oh. _Right."

Jack reached into his pocket, and tossed the black dot to them – they both reached up to catch it, and ended up holding it in their linked hands. In such an excitement to find out what it was they had collectively caught, they leaned over their hands and promptly clonked heads.

But apparently this happened a lot, because they each absentmindedly rubbed the sore spots and continued pouring over the black thing.

"Is this…" began Dutchy, and for once, Specs didn't pick up the question.

"It is." Cowboy assured with a grin. "Snitchy found it outside by the car."

Specs smiled. "Best present _ever._"

"It's a bit damaged…"

Specs held it up to one eye, then sighed and clipped a magnifying lens onto his glasses. With one strangely enlarged eye, he peered at the black thing. "I don't know if we can work with it like this."

"Take it to Race." Put in Dutchy. "Have him fix it, then send it back to us and we'll tap it."

"Assuming that's what you want us to do."

Cowboy smiled and palmed the tiny dot. "Yup. We're on our way to Race right now, so I'll drop it by." He lead the way back into the sunlight, as the collective Sputchy resumed their muttering relay race of information.

"So what was that you gave them?"

"It the earpiece that Snitch found."

"Earpiece?" David asked, confused.

"You know, like a… mmm, what did you call them in your day? Like the speaker of a telephone in your ear."

"Oh yeah, we had those. Well, only in spy movies, and they were never wireless."

Cowboy smiled. "Well, in the past thirty years, there've been some changes."

David looked out at the flat and desolate landscape that had once been his home city. "I'll say…"

* * *

A/N: Well? Whaddya think? Reviews please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please… A huge thank you to my lone reviewer, the lovely **hobbit1400** (enjoy the suspense dear, the exposition is on its way. Not that it does much to improve the situation…). Everyone else drop me a comment pwease. Much obliged. I'll be back in the States when I post again, so let's hope I remember. Cheers lads! 


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